The Disastrous Mission
by sora-aeri
Summary: Draco is given a mission by the Dark Lord, one that is nearly impossible for him to complete.   Having no choice in the matter, he struggles with a way to figure out how to work around his lord's orders.
1. Everyone's Got Their Own Problems

Disclaimer: J.K Rowling owns everything in the Harry Potter world.

_This is a challenge fic between myself and 77DMK77. Check out the competition 'Change of Face'._

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><p>The Dark Lord was residing in his house. Why his father had allowed it, he could understand at least. He valued his life, just as Draco valued his. The screams he heard every day, and the merciless laughs that always followed, sickened him to the core. He had to watch, the Dark Lord wanted him to join the army of Death Eaters, and if he did that, he had to be able to observe a simple murder right? <em>Wrong, <em>is what he felt about the situation. He wasn't like his father. He would bow to his lord, and do as the man wished, but he was not ready to go and murder someone. He wanted to remain with a clean soul. But when the summons came to him that morning, in the form of his father, he knew that the Dark Lord had a mission for him. He just hoped murdering someone wasn't involved. He would never be able to follow through with it.

He had already showered, the warm fog that permeated the bathroom created a film of water vapor on the mirror, making it difficult to look into. Draco however, couldn't bring himself to worry about that, he had other mirrors in his massive bedroom. His father had drilled into him always to carry himself with pride. To make himself look worthy of being the Malfoy heir. But this morning, when Lucius had entered his room, just as he was waking up from a not so peaceful slumber; the Malfoy Patriarch had looked very solemn, a hint of rigidness that wasn't usually there, his alabaster skin paler than usual.

"The Dark Lord is requesting your presence at ten o'clock in the Drawing Room," Lucius said eyeing his son carefully for his reaction. But Draco showed no reaction, he merely nodded his head, and thanked his father for giving over the message.

Now, it was already half nine, and Draco was panicking. He wasn't dressed, and he wasn't ready to face the Dark Lord either. Whatever the man wanted he would have to obey, if he wanted to reach his sixteenth birthday. Having just turned fifteen, that would be a long way to go, and if he would not follow through with the Dark Lord's request, he would be killed promptly, and nothing his father or mother did could prevent it from happening.

Draco paused and took a deep relaxing breath. Severus had taught him the basics of Occlumency the year prior, and the first step was always meditation, to be able to clear one's mind. He needed this, if he wanted to act cool, calm and collected, he needed to force himself to relax and meditate his mind, if only to be ready to face his lord.

He sat down gracefully on the floor, letting his silk white robe spread out around him. With a wave of his wand, he lit the candles that were already set out in the small corner of his room, the fresh and calming aroma wrapping around him like a baby wrapped in a blanket. It reassured him immediately, and he let out a sigh of relief.

Draco closed his eyes, allowing his mind to latch onto the vision of a waterfall, streaming water rolling down and splashing onto rocks, the sound invigorating even in his imagination. Then, he imagined a large fire, the cackle of wood burning a welcome sound in his now calming mind. The last image he envisioned was that of a raven in flight. Large black wings spread out gracefully, flying into a cloudless blue sky. The flaps of the wings sounding almost like the heavy beats of a baker pounding against his dough.

No other thought went through Draco's mind, and he opened his eyes, blissful and happy. His mediation session was a lot shorter than usual, but nonetheless, he felt ready to face the Dark Lord. A quick tempus told him he had only ten minutes left until his presence was required, and so, with a surprising elegance, he got up, and swiftly put on the clothes a house elf had set up for him in the midst of his meditation.

The clothes were that meant for a party. Grey chinos, a silk aquamarine shirt, a silvery white tie, and a set of black dress robes. He was a little startled that the house elf had set out for him to wear Italian loafers, but he didn't ask questions. He was dressed in a matter of minutes, his hair combed back neatly, the tips softly brushing his shoulders. He didn't put it back in a tie, because he found nothing on his dresser to hold his hair together. He took it as a sign from whoever had given the order to the house elf, that he should be looking as good as possible for the Dark Lord.

He had three minutes left to get to the Drawing Room, and though his heart was pounding in fear, he knew he would make it. Instead of heading straight down the stairs, he headed to a small niche in the wall, that he assumed nobody was the wiser about. It was a secret passageway, much like the ones at Hogwarts. The dust that surrounded him was enough to make him sneeze, and before he could control himself, a sneeze could be heard echoing around the walls. He paled, hoping sincerely that it was not loud enough for anyone to hear. It was a low sneeze, he convinced himself, as he slid carefully down the slide. His robes were getting quite filthy, he noted with regret, but he wasn't overly concerned, a quick Scourgify before he exited the other door would make him look proper once more.

At exactly 9:59 AM, Draco stood outside the Drawing Room his palms sweating slightly. Deciding not to take chances, he knocked swiftly, and waited for someone to acknowledge him. It therefore surprised him, when his father opened the door for him, rather than a house elf or himself. But again, he decided not to ask any questions.

"Draco," his father acknowledged.

"Father," Draco replied respectfully.

It was then that Draco noticed the Dark Lord sitting in a throne-like chair, eying him curiously.

"My Lord," Draco murmured, hurrying to the Dark Lord's side, falling to his knees, and kissing at the hems of the latter's robes.

"Young Malfoy," the Dark Lord returned, not taking his eyes away from the boy on the floor for even a moment. Draco felt like squirming under the deep scrutiny, but kept himself still and his gaze to the floor. He didn't feel worthy enough to stare into the eyes of his lord, and so, even though he was still being watched, he kept his head down, and hoped the Dark Lord didn't notice the slight flush to his pale cheeks.

Draco heard a soft chuckle, and with wide eyes, he looked up to face his lord, who though had finished laughing, still had a small smile on his flattened face. It looked very out of place, but Draco dared not mention it. He forced his head back to stare at the floor, and waited to be acknowledged. The tinkling sound of a laugh was not heard a second time, and Draco flinched, hoping the Dark Lord wasn't upset with him.

"I have a mission for you, young Draco," the Dark Lord said quietly, though his voice rang clearly throughout the room.

Draco began trembling; did the Dark Lord expect him to look up at him now that he was finally being spoken to?

As if the Dark Lord could hear his thoughts, his voice sharpened, and in a commanding voice ordered, "Look at me." Draco did, and was glad he was successfully able to hide the wince from his lord, as he looked into cold, red eyes.

"My Lord?" he all but squeaked.

"I need for you to get close to Harry Potter," Draco widened his eyes, _of all things!_ "He has managed to escape me once too many times, and if you can get him into your clutches—" here the Dark Lord paused, as if wondering how to phrase his next sentence. "—well, yes, that is what I want from you, young Malfoy. Get Harry Potter to trust you, and then lure him to me, so I can finally bring him onto my side. Either that, or I will have you kill him."

Draco was glad that his knees were already on the floor, for he was certain had they not been, he would have fallen, and shown weakness before his lord. He felt like crying, there were so many things that could go wrong with this mission, and the biggest one of them? If all goes wrong, he'd have to kill Harry Potter.

"DRACO!" the harsh voice of the Dark Lord sounded out heavily into the room, and he did not sound happy. "Will you do as I demand?" he hissed out, sounding very much like the snake at his side.

Draco shook, his fear now very evident in his eyes, and the way his body trembled.

"Yes, My Lord," Draco whispered, his eyes closing briefly, though his head was still facing his feet, and he was sure the Dark Lord had not seen.

He was wrong.

"Crucio!" the Dark Lord screamed, anger and impatience clouding his voice. Draco yelled in agony, as every fiber of his being felt like it was aflame, burning him to a crisp, from his every bone, to the skin on his body. The pain felt as if it would never end, and tears spilled from his eyes, as he writhed on the floor, unable to form a coherent word.

"You will look at me when you respond to a direct question!" he lifted the Cruciatus curse, and Draco lay there panting, tears still streaming down his cheeks.

"Yes My Lord," he sobbed, staring at his lord directly into his red eyes, "of course my lord."

The Dark Lord finally seemed satisfied, and with a wave of his hand, he dismissed Draco, who still lay prone on the floor, curled into a fetal position. He felt gentle hands on him, and for a moment, could not imagine who it was, and then a soft voice called softly into his ear, "Come, my son, let's get you to bed."

Draco felt as his father bowed to their lord, and then once they had left the room, his father lifted him into his arms, cradling him, protecting him. Draco basked in the love that his father was giving him. He had never, in all his 15 years, shown this much affection to his son, but then again, Draco mused, never had he been tortured by their lord either.

They finally reached his bedroom, and his father helped him take his robes off, along with his shoes and socks. Lucius covered him with the soft duvet, and then observed his son, as his son took off his shirt and chinos.

Draco got lost in thought, and was happy that his father was not in any rush to leave. He knew his father heard every word of the Dark Lord's demands, and he wanted to discuss it with the Malfoy Patriarch.

"Father?" he asked finally, once his clothes were all off, and he remained shirtless, and in his briefs. His father made no motion for him to put any bedclothes on, and Draco didn't push the topic.

"Yes, Son?" Lucius replied his voice warm, but his mask in place.

"You are aware that I've tried to befriend Potter in the past, right?" he asked, his voice still a little hoarse from the screaming he had done in the Drawing Room. His father merely inclined his head, waiting for Draco to continue.

"We are school rivals. The entire school is aware of our enemy status. We hate each other's guts, and well—he's just a damn right prick!"

"Draco!" his father admonished, "language!"

"Sorry, Father, but, well it's true…Potter is full of himself, and one thing I know for certain," Draco continued, his voice shaking slightly. "He will never go to the dark side."

"Then you will have to convince him, Draco." was Lucius' reply.

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><p>Harry Potter spluttered, as the fist of his beefy uncle came flying at him a second time. He was 15 years old, malnourished, small, and powerful in a world that his Muggle relatives didn't understand. To them, magic was bad, and since he had magic, he was bad.<p>

His uncle didn't seem to understand that 15-year-old adolescents do not get beat up any longer. His cousin Dudley loved watching as his father beat Harry up, because as soon as he was finished, Dudley would wait five minutes, and then come and find him to do a repeat.

On this particular night, it was excruciating, he was going to school tomorrow, finally, and because of that, his uncle found it necessary to beat him even harder. His ribs were cracked in two places, he was sure of it, his nose broken, his ankle sprained, and his hands burnt. That had been his fault, partially anyway. He had been busy cooking dinner, when Dudley purposefully bumped into the frying pan, causing it to tilt on a sharp angle, and begin to fall to the floor.

Being Harry, he had used his hands to catch the frying pan. Unable to grip the handle in time, he took both his hands, and caught it at the bottom, thus both his hands being burnt. The Dursley's of course, hadn't said anything, except to complain that the food was 'too burnt.'

He wanted to throw a tantrum at that, because how fair was it that he had to do all the work, he was their slave, more than he was their nephew.

He wished piteously for his friends, and for the kindness Mrs. Weasley always showed him. He wanted Sirius to sit next to him, and laugh at all the jokes he told, even when they really weren't that great. He wanted to have someone at his side, who would protect him, and grant him everything that he yearned for.

Of course, such things weren't likely to happen, he was the Boy-Who-Lived, and everyone expected 'greatness' from him. Sometimes, he wished that he never had to fight Voldemort, he wished to have his parents alive too, but all these things were just dreams. A figment of his widely creative imagination.

_And I really wish my uncle would ..to..PULP!_ Harry thought angrily. He was too scrawny to fight him though, and if he ever got particularly feisty, his uncle would just call Dudley to 'hold down the freak,' which Dudley was always more than happy to do.

Harry closed his eyes, having lost the energy to fight back. His uncle must have realized this, when Harry went limp in his arms, and with a hearty laugh, threw Harry to the side, and then went to watch the football game Dudley was in the middle of watching.

Harry felt too tired to move, he was all for sleeping right where he was on the floor, but if Dudley would get bored in the middle of the game, Harry would become his entertainment, and it would be impossible to even walk straight tomorrow, if Dudley got a hold of him again that night. He lifted his head up, leaning on one arm, and tried to find the closest place he could find comfort.

When his eyes passed by his cupboard, he smiled wanly. That would do. Dudley wouldn't think to look there, and it was only a few crawls away. He screwed his eyes shut, as a sharp pain flashed through his body. He gasped loudly, and clutched at his ribs, which were hurting by far the most. The TV had quieted, and for one horrible moment, Harry thought Dudley would come after him; it was therefore a relief when a grunt was heard, and the sound of the TV came back on.

Not wasting another minute, Harry crawled tentatively towards his old cupboard. It was a lot dustier than it used to be, and random spiders were nesting there, creating webs of beauty. He smiled softly at them, and in a low voice said, "I will be joining you for now," No answer was given, and with an exhausted moan, Harry let himself fall onto the tiny mattress that had remained there over the course of five years. Within moments he was asleep, the only sound he made was a subconscious whimper every so often, which was never heard over the loud sounds of the TV.

)

When Harry awoke again, the sounds of the TV had quieted, and everything was dark around him. Everything hurt, and he wished that doing magic wouldn't cause him an expulsion from school. He had already been caught twice, and if it were to happen again…he'd never finish his education. Grimacing, he quietly left the comfort of the small cupboard, and trudged up the stairs limping.

His uncle had not offered him a ride to Kings Cross station, and after the nice treatment he had been given, he was not going to ask. His aunt was to uncaring to stick up for her nephew, and Harry knew it was futile to try to go around that.

His trunk was all packed, and for a moment, he considered doing magic to shrink it. He would definitely get caught, how would the Ministry know if he was in the presence of a Muggle? He could hardly move himself, how would he manage to carry a heavy trunk down a flight of stairs without breaking more of his bones?

His relatives would certainly wake up as well, and then his beating would be harsher than ever. It was late, and if he would dare disturb then—oh dear Merlin, would he be in a shit load of trouble. Deciding not to risk it, he gently lifted one side of his trunk, and grunted at the effort. He got his trunk to the staircase, willing it to be lighter so he shouldn't die from the exertion.

When he lifted the trunk to the first step, he almost toppled down the flight of stairs in shock. The trunk was light as a feather, and he hadn't raised his wand once.

Delightedly, he dragged his trunk down the rest of the stairs, no longer afraid that the Dursley's would hear him.

He stepped outside, and into the warm breeze that greeted him. This time, he did raise his wand, and signaled the Knight Bus to come and get him. A second later, the Knight Bus screeched to a halt not two inches from he stood.

Harry reeled back in shock, and tripped over his trunk. He scowled; it was like third year all over again. Stan Shunpike greeted him as if they were best friends, and grabbed onto his trunk, which had gotten heavy again from the strained look that appeared on Stan's face. Nevertheless, the smile never dropped.

Harry asked Stan to bring his trunk up to the next floor, and Stan just nodded, flicking his wand at Harry's trunk, making it feather light.

Once Stan had returned to the first floor, Harry looked around, and was pleased that no one else vacated his space. Harry plopped down on the soft bed that was there, and let out a relieved sigh. With a start, he realized he hadn't told them his destination. "Oi Stan!" he yelled from his bed. Stan's head popped up on top of the staircase, and Harry gave him a sheepish smile. "The Leaky Cauldron, for me, Stan," he told the man. With that, he lied back down, effectively ending the conversation. When he was certain Stan was no longer on the staircase, he forced himself to sit up, gasping at the pain it caused in his ribs. "Episky!" Harry said loudly, pointing at his foot, hoping to fix it as much as possible, so he could walk. He bit down on his bottom lip, when he felt it heal somewhat. He would need Madam Pomfrey as soon as he got to the school that would be embarrassing. At least he had remembered to clear the blood away from his face, that would have been hard to explain. What would he tell the woman? That he was abused at home? Yeah, right. What a laugh.

His ribs were another story, he was terrified to even attempt to heal himself, but the pain was getting to be unbearable, and he would pass out if he didn't at least mend something. He muttered the spell again, and knew immediately it didn't heal right; he was able to move at least. His lip was bleeding slightly from chewing on it so hard, but he didn't bother with that. It would heal in time. He looked at his hands, and remembered the burns. He was surprised he hadn't felt it, was he so used to kitchen injuries? He shrugged his shoulders, and made no attempt to heal them.

He let his head fall back onto the pillow, and fell once more into an exhausted sleep.

)

A strong hand shook him, and with a yelp, he jumped up, expecting his uncle. Instead, Stan Shunpikes face swam into view. "We're at your stop, mate," he said, grinning.

Harry nodded tiredly, and urged himself to a sitting position. His trunk was to his left, and Harry sincerely hoped that feather light charm was still in effect. He was too exhausted to do any more magic that night. All he wanted was a bed, and maybe a warm meal.

"What time 's it?" he slurred, yawning slightly.

"A little after 3:00 AM," Stan replied cheerfully, apparently not sleeping didn't affect the man. He snorted at the thought, and tugged at his trunk, happy that it had indeed kept the feather light charm.

What seemed like seconds later, he was in the Leaky Cauldron, being served warm french toast, and a nice cup of tea. Harry already had his room key, Tom seemed to know exactly what he needed when he entered, and Harry was very grateful of the older man. He requested that Tom wake him up by 8 am. and the man had readily agreed.

When Harry finally finished eating he trudged up the stairs, his trunk already had been sent up, and opened the door to his room, thankful for the bed he saw awaiting him. Tiredly he settled into the third bed for the night, it was already half four in the morning. Without bothering to remove his shoes, he bonelessly dropped into the small bed, and shut his eyes with a small-relieved sigh. His last thoughts before falling into an exhausted sleep, was that tomorrow he would be back at school, and see his beloved friends once more. Even the idea of seeing his headmaster excited him. The man was truly dear to him, and he always made time for him, giving him sound advice on how to deal with his troubles. Maybe he would talk to the Headmaster about the Dursley's. And with that reassuring thought, Harry slept.

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><p>A couple of hundred miles away, an older man with a long white beard, and half moon spectacles sat in his office, reflecting on the arrival of the students in his school. His most awaited, was a certain boy, with dark hair, and glasses, a significant lightning bolt shaped scar on his forehead.<p>

He hoped that the Muggles he lived with were able to knock some sense into him, the boy always looked fine when he arrived to the school, and Albus always wondered what exactly it was that they did there. The little communication that he had with the Dursley's, were always guarantees that his golden boy was treated exactly as he had hoped, and that was all they said. Harry never mentioned anything, so perhaps they were telling the truth.

He had to shape Harry to be able to defeat Voldemort. He had gotten too old to do it himself, and with Harry none the wiser, He, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore would take all the glory to himself. If Harry didn't die in the battle, he would most probably kill him, after all, there was no way he would allow a 15 year old boy to take a glory that was ultimately his. Harry was his little obedient soldier, and as long as he remained ignorant of the fact, Albus was safe.

Albus popped a lemon drop in his mouth, and devoured it hungrily. He had two other soldiers that Harry didn't know about, those two soldiers he paid, albeit not that much. They would stay at Harry's side, and give him the advice the Headmaster told them too. And with that, Albus could do no wrong.

He laughed, a sound, that not many heard coming from the Headmaster's mouth, it was a wicked sound, one that would cause many to cease their brows in worry, for the laugh was full of malicious intent.

"This is the year!" Albus Dumbledore said happily, "Voldemort is newly reborn, and Harry will kill him, and I will get my glory that I deserve!" Fawkes crooned softly, though if Dumbledore cared to look, he would have seen a glare in the magical bird's eyes.

Professor McGonagall suddenly entered his office, and Albus immediately halted his mutterings.

"Minerva? How can I help you?" he asked, his twinkle in his blue eyes returning. "Can I offer you a lemon drop?"

Minerva contained her snort quite elegantly, and glared into Albus' twinkling eyes.

"Word has it that Harry Potter left his relatives during the night, without waiting for them to escort him to the train station at the designated time."

At these words, Dumbledore straightened in his chair, his eyes flashing and hardened as what Minerva said began to sink in. If Harry was leaving his Muggle relatives early, without any supervision, especially with Voldemort on the loose, something indeed had occurred, and it had happened directly under his nose.

"Where do you hear of these rumors, Minerva?" he asked, his voice calm, and his eyes clear once more.

"The news came from an Auror that was at the Leaky Cauldron when Harry Potter entered it." Minerva replied with an air of importance.

Albus nodded glumly. So Harry Potter was learning independence, was he? With a grim smile, Albus shook his head. Harry Potter would not be learning independence, no, not this year. This year, Albus would have him wrapped around his finger.

With a nod to Minerva, he thanked her, a smile on his grandfatherly face, and showed her out of his office. Fawkes let out a random sad note of music, but Albus took no heed of the morose tone the Phoenix had taken. He had things that were more important on his mind. Like how to get Harry Potter to fully trust him.

Harry's best friends would have a major part in this, he mused. He still frowned though, Harry learning autonomy at such an early stage spelled trouble. And Albus didn't do trouble. With a wicked grin on his aged face, he took out a spare bit of parchment, and began to hash out a plan for Harry's fifth year. Harry would never know what hit him.


	2. Planning the Unplottable

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter

A/N: I would like to credit 77DMK77 for helping me with the Potions book Excerpt, I definitely could not have done it without you

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><p>Planning the Unplottable<p>

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><p>After Lucius left his rooms, with a soft kiss to Draco's temple, the Malfoy heir lied between the soft sheets and clenched his fists together, as his head pounded uncontrollably. Now that his father was no longer in his presence, he let his mask drop, and allowed his body to tremble. Every time he remembered how the Dark Lord had pointed his wand at him, and the Unforgivable ringing out, he recalled the feeling, the feeling of the unknown, the feeling of never ending pain, the feeling of wanting to die, just so that the agony could end, and leave him in peace.<p>

But peace was not something he would be able to grasp. Not if he were still to live in the manor, with the Dark Lord residing there as well. He had never been more grateful to be returning to Hogwarts, and even though, he needed to do the impossible, he would figure it out. He really did not have a choice in the matter.

Today would have been like any other day, go to the Drawing Room, mask in place and watch as Muggles were tortured, and eventually killed. He would have to pretend to be enjoying it all, cheer along with everyone else, when another 'Mudblood' was slayed. He had a reprieve today though, the Dark Lord thought he needed to pack.

Draco smirked. He already had packed. Everything was ready, exactly where it needed to be. All of his summer homework had been completed within the first week of summer holidays; all he needed to do was actually get himself to Platform 9 and ¾. He literally had a day off.

Figuring he would try to get some planning done, he sat down at his desk, and took out a spare parchment from the drawer. Draco stared down at the parchment, quill in hand, and waited for an idea to sprout in his mind, nothing happened. He glared down at the parchment, wishing an idea would pop up, and help him with his plans. But no matter how hard he tried, nothing came to him. It occurred to him to ask Blaise for some advice, but even though they were really close, and Blaise's clever mind would probably help him in this stint—he couldn't allow Blaise to get involved. The Dark Lord would not be pleased, and if Blaise got tortured because of him being unable to come up with a simple plan to get Potter to the dark side—well, that was his problem, not Blaise. And then he grounded his resolve. No one would know of his plans. Not even his parents, his best friends, his godfather and especially not Harry Potter.

)

Two hours passed. The blank parchment taunted Draco, almost calling to him, and saying how unworthy he was of anything. Why would it be so hard to get Harry Potter into his clutches? He was a Malfoy, a Slytherin, a servant of the Dark Lord, (though he had yet to get the Dark Mark,) and those reasons alone should have been enough to have his parchment full of ideas. It was only when his feet began to ache, that he realized he had been pacing, though he had no recollection of how long it had been.

Calling to a house elf, Draco instructed him to draw up a bath and then have a platter of biscuits, croissants, and drinks brought to him. This would calm him down, maybe lull him into thinking of an idea?

The tremendous bath filled up quickly, different dials surrounding the tub, with names and smells written on each. There were different dials for bubbles, and Draco allowed the bath to fill with them, until it covered his neck. He made sure to put the white ginger smell into the bathtub, it was his favourite and it made him smell manly.

Images of his girlfriend Astoria Greengrass filtered through his mind, and he welcomed it, rubbing gently at his growing cock, a soft smile on his face. Harry Potter and his non-existent plan went to the back alley of his brain, as Stori took the forefront.

His bath turned out to be a lot more enjoyable, once he did not have to worry about the Dark Lord's request. His food came, and he indulged, letting himself feel like a king for one day. Even with the Dark Lord invading his house, he would take this day, to be himself, just to be able to enjoy the last day home.

)

It must have been a couple of hours since he had entered the bath. For when Draco felt his fingers, he cringed, they were prune like and unattractive, his toes had the same problem. They would go away eventually, he hoped anyway. Other than his atrocious appearance, he felt lightened. As if everything will go right.

The room had darkened considerably, though a deep copperish gold was infiltrating through the windows. Draco sighed, it was already dusk. He had wasted an awful amount of time. His light-hearted feeling evaporated, and he once again began to think of what to do about Potter. An image of him asking the Dark Lord for help entered his mind, and he was so surprised, he burst into a fit of laughter. Ask the Dark Lord, right. He scoffed at his own foolishness, and moved to sit on his bed.

A yawn caught Draco unawares. Wondering why he felt so fatigued, Draco was about to summon a house-elf for his nightclothes, when a house-elf came to him.

"Master Draco is being wanted in the dining room, sir," It squeaked, before popping away.

The dining room was hardly ever used, which meant only one thing: they were having important guests. And it was not hard for Draco to figure out who it was that was coming, no, it was not hard at all.

There were not any particular clothes set out for him, but Draco was not fooled. With a couple of waves of his wand, his hair was set into soft waves around his face. His pruned up fingers and toes disappeared, left looking like perfection. He put on a new shirt, white and starched, along with black trousers. He did not bother with a tie, but put on a nice pair of silver robes to finish the look. He hoped it would suffice.

There was not a time limit for him to get to the dining room, so Draco took the stairs, his posture rigid, and head held high.

When he entered the dining room it appeared that all the Death Eaters, Death Brothers, his parents, and some people he didn't know were already there waiting for him. Worst of all though, was that the guest of honour was waiting for him as well. He winced, and went for the courteous route.

"My Lord," Draco said respectfully, and bowed toward him before he took his seat.

"Draco," the Dark Lord answered quietly, if a bit coldly. "I hope that you have come up with a plan to bring Potter to me, and to the dark side?"

Draco paled he had no plan. And not a soul dared say no to the Dark Lord.

"My Lord," Draco said again, licking at his dry lips, "I have not yet been able to think up an appropriate plan." The tremor in his voice was obvious; especially to the one sitting at the head table, red eyes narrowed, and snake like nose wrinkling in anger.

"You have until the morning, young Malfoy, after that, I will have no mercy."

"Yes, My Lord, as you wish, My Lord." Draco made sure to look his lord in the eye this time, and that seemed to satisfy him.

"You are dismissed," the cold voice told him harshly.

Draco stumbled out of his seat, colour flushing through his pale face. He did not know if his lord wanted him to reply anything, but he was not willing to risk His wrath either.

Once he was safely away from the dining room, Draco allowed his stomach to growl. It was not until he was aware a lavish feast was in order, that he realised exactly how hungry he was. He shivered, thinking that he would be in deep shit if he would not find a way to placate the Dark Lord. He would have to think and not stop, even if it took him all night long.

)

Hours had passed. The room was pitch black, no light coming in from any part of the crevices the room. Even the moon was hidden, a big mass of clouds blocking the meek light from entering through his partially opened window shades.

Draco's hair was a mess: his normally sleek, shiny, straight hair was up and in all directions, much like the twigs of a bird's nest. Dark purple circles marred his unblemished skin, and one eye was partially swelled shut, from all the rubbing he had done.

Different ideas had flitted through his tired mind, each less likely of occurring then the next. One where he would be plain nice to Potter, even going as far as calling him Harry, and acting civil to the Mudblood and Weasel, he gagged at this notion. Another possible idea was that he would keep snogging Potter until Potter would somehow fall in love with him, and be lured into his trap. _Yuck,_ Draco thought, not amused, kissing Potter would definitely be a last resort. Another was to force him to do as he said, by threatening his friends, and family. But Potter didn't have that much family, and though his friends meant a lot to him, he would run straight to Dumbledore, (the old coot was a manipulative bastard and would never really lift a finger to help him, but Potter was too stupid to realise it)

It was just as the sunlight filtered into the sky that Draco finally thought of a viable idea. He was not beneath using Unforgivables, though it was too traceable for him to use it in school, thus his idea of using a potion. That would be untraceable, right?

The Malfoy library was filled with books full of Dark Art's and dark curses. Surely, a potion of one that he was looking for would find its way into the many tomes the library carried? There was only one way to find out.

Draco jumped out of bed, though he toppled over in the process, having no coordination of his limbs, even with the sun now shining brightly through the window shades. He donned his dressing gown, once he got up, if a bit less gracefully than usual, and then ran to the library, his time nearly out, before the Dark Lord would come to find him, and maybe even kill him. He shuddered at the thought; he did have an idea now, though it was not complete.

The train would be leaving to Hogwarts in less than six hours, and perhaps that would not even matter. He was not running on Hogwarts' schedule, he was running on the schedule of the Dark Lord.

)

Another hour was wasted; as Draco perused the astronomically large library his father was proud of most. It rivaled Hogwarts' library easily, each book classified according to category, and the Dark Art's section within easy reach. He was surprised—though he should not have been— that the Dark Art's section was easily the biggest of all other sections and categories.

Tome after tome he browsed through, and as more time passed, Draco was becoming increasingly more afraid that he would not finish before the Dark Lord sought him out. And now that he had spent two hours in the library, it would happen soon.

It was in the third hour that he finally came across a Tome that would carry something he could use. The title, 'Potions: The Dark Way'; it was completely cliché in Draco's opinion, but if it would hold the solution to his problem, he would love the book for the rest of his life. He needed something that would help him force Potter to obey him, but something that would not let Potter realise he was being forced, or controlled. Either was fine. He just needed a bloody potion already.

He read the book carefully, his eyes drooping in defeat, even as the fourth hour came and went. The tome was extremely large, and he had to leave to Hogwarts in two hours, well, one, if he was going to make the train.

He came upon a potion that seemed to be in terms of what he was interested in, just as the door banged open, and the Dark Lord stood in the doorway, his wand raised, pointing at Draco. Draco met the eyes of his lord, and could not even bring himself to flinch. He was too tired.

"Have you found something, Draco?" the Dark Lord questioned him, a tone in his voice that begged anyone to dare defy him. Draco of course was not stupid enough to be a part of such a group. He had found what he needed, or so he hoped.

"Yes, My Lord, I have found something applicable to use on Potter." He said, hoping his voice was respectful enough, and that his tiredness did not make him sound dismissive.

"What is this idea, young Malfoy?" the Dark Lord questioned, a tone of interest heard in his voice.

"It's a potion, My Lord, called—"Draco quickly consulted the tome. "—Totus Imperium, which means total command." Draco looked at the Dark Lord eagerly, hoping to see something behind the strong façade his lord always had securing his emotions, and feelings, (if he had any to hide at all,) and was shocked speechless to see the Dark Lord nodding approvingly.

"Sounds promising," the Dark Lord replied silkily. "Now what does the potion do, exactly, other than the obvious." It was a clear question, though his lord did not phrase it as one.

Draco consulted the tome again, before reading aloud,_ "The Totus Imperium Potion ensures the absolute subjugation of the object to the will of the agent, provided that the agent features in the psychological processes of the object – that is, when they think of (including tokens or other thoughts which lead to the thinking of) or is consciously aware of the agent. This does not necessitate the presence of the agent near the object._

_This active phase of the subjection is called _non compos mentis_, and while the object is not thinking of or is consciously aware of the agent (including being removed from the agent's presence), they fall into a phase of _compos mentis_. The distinction should be made that while the object may be _compos mentis_, they are not entirely of their own mind once more – the effects of the potion are merely inactive._

_While the object is _compos mentis_ they__ may remember their actions and will not understand them. They may feel a compulsion to investigate why they constantly act without their volition and/or consult persons beyond themselves, but the potion will nullify either possible action and persuade the object to resume whatever task they had been doing prior."_

Draco paused, glancing at his lord to see if he still had his full attention_. _Their eyes met, making Draco gulp, before he hurried on._  
><em>

_"The brewing of Totus Imperium is rather complicated. Begin on the night of the full moon. As the potion is prohibitively sensitive, if one error occurs whilst it is being made, it will lose all efficacy. The intensity of the desire of the agent to control the object will not strengthen the potion, as the control under which the object will be subjected is absolute._

_The effects of Totus Imperium are impermanent. Thus it will need to be remade, and retaken every fortnight. Should more time than this active window period lapse after the potion is taken, the object will return to a _compos mentis_ phase for a further fortnight during which the effects of the potion will gradually decrease. Beyond four weeks, the effects will be nil._

Draco finished reading from the tome, and looked up to watch his lord, who was caressing his wand softly between his fingers.

"That is perfect, Draco. Potter will be under your full command, and you can slowly persuade him to join me, get the Dark Mark, and with him and myself ruling, we will get rid of the light sight, and Dumbledore will have no say." The Dark Lord seemed to have forgotten Draco's presence, but Draco made no sound, waiting quietly for his lord to get back from his dream. "I will make sure Severus provides you with the proper ingredients once you are at school." The Dark Lord said, almost as an afterthought, his voice was full of malicious glee, and Draco dared not say anything in reply.

He nodded instead, docile, and waited for the Dark Lord to take his leave. When he finally retreated from the library, Draco sagged against the wall, his adrenaline rush gone, and his tiredness coming onto him in full blast. He forced himself to remain awake, as he struggled to get up. If he had his way, he would sleep the entire way to Hogwarts.

With a flick of his wand, Draco quickly copied the content of the tome onto a bit of parchment he had on him, and with another wave, spelled it that only he would be able to read it. It would not do for someone to see him in possession of something so dark. Now to find his father… He fell back onto the floor, and shut his eyes, losing the battle of remaining awake. But that did not matter, right? He still had a little over an hour to get to Platform 9 and ¾. He would be fine.

* * *

><p>Harry was excited. In fifteen minutes the train was due to leave, and he was already there, trunk and Hedwig safely in his possession.<p>

He saw Ron and Hermione in the distance, coming with a couple of people whom he guessed was part of the Order. They had a queer expression on their face, as one of them whispered something in their ears. He was sure he was not visible, amongst the growing crowd, but he surreptitiously moved behind a pillar, just to be sure. What could they be talking about already? Even from his distance, he could see the tips of Ron's ears go red, and Hermione's eyes narrowing. Were they perhaps talking about him?

It threw him how large that possibility was. They had barely spoken to him the entire summer, making up excuses about Dumbledore refusing to allow them to say anything about the "Order," only that they could not be part of it. They would also continuously complain how boring it was, not being able to roam about freely as they wished. It really bothered him that his friends had just ditched him the way they had, with no word of warning. Everyone just told him to remain where he was, and not leave the Dursley's.

He had not listened, of course, and had left. Now he was there, safe and sound, and no one to bother him. He did not want to be in the presence of Hermione and Ron, so instead of continuing to watch their growing annoyance, he turned around to watch other students streaming in from the brick wall.

What he saw then nearly made him drop his bag in shock. Draco Malfoy being led onto the platform, held up by his father. An unreadable expression was on Lucius Malfoy's face, though Draco's mask was no were to be seen. His eyes were sunken in, his usually sleek hair, limp, and messy, as if his hand had constantly gone through it the night before. He was thinner than usual, and it looked as if he would fall if his father would let go of him. They passed him by, and neither Malfoy noticed him, for which he was thankful. A bit of their conversation reached his ears, and he strained to listen.

"It's alright Father, I'll be okay, I'll sleep on the train, no one will bother me."

"That may be, Draco, but I refuse to let go of you, until you are securely on the train."

Harry was shocked at the obvious love Lucius was showing his son. He thought the man to be a stoic and emotionless creature. But it looked like the man cared for things, especially if said things were blood relations.

"Yes, Father," was heard before the Malfoys finally moved ahead, the crowd of students waving good-bye to their parents and boarding the train.

When he looked over his shoulder, it was to see his two best friends still arguing with the man they had come with. Harry shook his head, and rolled his eyes. His friends were strange sometimes. He pulled his trolley along, and finally boarded the train himself. He was not in the mood for company, the train was nearly full and his hope for an empty compartment was beginning to wane. Every compartment was full, or had at least one person in it. Dejectedly, he made his way back to the front, and began to search for hopefuls. Maybe a sleeper or a younger student, anything would be good at this point.

There was no noise coming from the second compartment on the Hogwarts Express, and that more than anything quelled Harry's curiosity to find out who was there. The curtains were drawn, and Harry's love for adventure spiked. He tried the door, but it was locked. Frowning, Harry muttered 'Alohomora,' and the lock clicked open.

The person was silly not to have put more wards up if they wanted privacy.

When Harry entered the compartment, his mouth opened wide, his disbelief palpable.

Draco Malfoy was lying across one of the cushioned benches, and was fast asleep. The boy had not been exaggerating. For a moment, Harry considered fleeing the compartment, and finding someone else to sit with. But then he calmed down, and forced himself to think about the pros and cons. Yes, the biggest, most obvious con was the fact that Draco shared the same compartment as him, but the pros were beginning to look up. He'd put up a couple of more wards he had learnt about from reading a book he had purchased that morning, and then he'd be free to do as he pleased. He would stay quiet, and if by the bedraggled look Malfoy had shown up in meant anything, the latter would probably stay asleep the entire ride to Hogwarts, which was fine by him. All he had to do was shake the blond awake, (if he wanted to live by his hero complex, that is,) and then flee the carriage. Malfoy would never know what hit him. And so, that resolved, he shut the door slowly, and locked it, murmuring a couple of complicated spells he never knew he would be capable of doing. He was safe.

)

Things would be different this year, Harry thought, as the train travelled through the countryside. Voldemort had returned, and yet, nobody believed him, (if he was to go according to the prophet, he was spreading lies, and considered mental...on some level.)

He was sure to get many hostile welcomes, and if he knew Dumbledore at all, the man would have something else up his sleeve at how to get rid of Voldemort once and for all. Not that he minded of course, as long as he remained alive, he did not care to obliterate the most evil creature alive. The world could do without the extra terror.

If that happened, he would be able to live a happy and fulfilling life. He nearly snorted at that thought. He was the Chosen One. No one would ever leave him alone. He hated being famous, he hated that everyone looked at him, expected something from him, no matter what the cost on his part.

It was not the first time that he wished his parents were still alive. He would have a loving family, one where he was not beaten and abused daily. But all this thinking was for naught. His parents were dead, whether or not he liked it.

He fished around in his bag and took out a book on Transfigurations. He had already completed his summer homework, having broken into the small area where the Dursley's had locked away his magical things. They never checked if his stuff were there or not, thinking him incapable of doing anything for himself, which included taking back his things.

The book he was reading was a little more advanced, but he wanted to do better in his studies this year, and he did not mind putting in the extra effort. He was even considering brushing up on his potions, so, he had but a more advanced book on potions, meant for older students. He was capable though, if he put his mind to it, he would succeed, and that was all that counted in Hogwarts. Teachers were able to see effort from a mile away. Yes, Hermione was knowledgeable, but he had realised, that Hermione copied facts from books, not directly of course, but that did not seem to matter, as she memorised them from cover to cover. He wanted to bring his own insight into his essays that year, and he would. He would become the best student in the class. He almost laughed at the unlikelihood of that occurring, but it was worth a try, anything was worth a try.

)

The conductor's voice came on and he knew it could be heard throughout the train. They were nearing Hogwarts. A sure reminder to put on their school robes. Fearfully, Harry looked over to Malfoy's sleeping form, and was relieved to see that he was still out cold. As quietly as he could, he donned his robes, and then sat down on the bench, waiting for the Hogwarts Express to arrive.

The train screeched to a halt, nearly making Harry fall. When he looked over at Malfoy, he was astonished again, to see that the blonde boy had not awoken. Like had had planned, he shook the Slytherin hard, and waited until he heard a moan come from the other boy before fleeing the compartment. If the boy was awake enough to voice his unsettlement, he was awake enough to get off the train on his own. It was not really Harry's problem.

He saw Ron and Hermione leading a couple of first years out, and it was with a trembling realisation, that he had not even been aware that his best friends had been made prefects. He hoped that it was a mistake; that they had in fact told him via one of the few letters they had written, but it had gotten lost somewhere on the way. He begged the unreality that his friends remained true to him. He needed them they were his everything. But it was obvious now, that they were leading students towards Hagrid. They would not be sharing a carriage with him that would take them to Hogwarts.

Feeling Resigned, Harry moved towards the closest carriage, wavering slightly as he noticed the carriage was being led by some kind of creature. When had that started? Shuddering he entered the carriage, and let his head lean back onto the seats. He was happy to see that Luna and Neville followed him in, and a relaxed smile crossed his face, as he nodded to his friends.

Harry eyed the two sitting before him. They looked calm and content, unlike himself. He wondered offhandedly what the creatures were called, and why Hogwarts suddenly decided to use an animal to push the carriages.

His voice uncertain, he decided to ask his mind. "Errr...do either of you know why Hogwarts suddenly decided to use an animal to push the carriages?"

Luna glanced at him curiously, her face patient and serene. "It's always been that way Harry, the animal is a Thestral."

Harry blinked at her, confusion clouding his face. "But I have never seen it before in my life!" he was beginning to panic. Luna seemed to know what he was talking about, but it had not always been there, he was sure of it!

"Only people who have seen death, are able to see it, Harry," she said softly.

_Cedric!_ "Oh," he replied weakly, and then shut his mouth. He did not want to continue this conversation. He was almost at his home; he almost did not have to worry anymore.

And then, five minutes later, they were finally at Hogwarts. The majestic gates were wide open in welcome, and all the carriages passed through swiftly, and then stopped at the large front doors.

The large looming castle seemed to be calling out to Harry, as if they missed him. _I missed you to, my beloved Hogwarts," _he thought softly, the lights blinked at him, and Harry laughed. Surely, he had imagined that. He shrugged his shoulders. He was home.

Streams of students were already making their way to the Great Hall, and he followed, Neville at his side. Luna had gone off to her own group of friends, waving happily, as she was lost within the crowd. That left the two of them.

Harry was nearly giddy with excitement, as he sat down at the Gryffindor table, beaming with pride. He was here, finally. He could not believe it. An entire year without the Dursley's! He looked to the Head Table and saw Dumbledore, who was gazing at him calculatingly. Harry did not seem to notice, as his eyes brightened, and an even bigger smile graced his features. He waved at the Headmaster, who waved back, the grandfatherly look back on his face, a familiar twinkle in his eyes.

But as soon as Harry looked away, a slight sneer very unlike the Headmaster graced the aged man's face.

Harry, was too busy jumping in his seat, unable to remain still, that was how high his exhilaration felt. He was home; he was safe; He was at Hogwarts. Nothing would go wrong now. And even as the raven-haired boy smiled at the crowed, he could never have realised just how wrong he was.

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